


vertigo

by mirabilis



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, M/M, POV Outsider, Post-Time Skip, author calls this the pain fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:48:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25948336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirabilis/pseuds/mirabilis
Summary: He’s attractive. Sort of. Oikawa won’t tell you that though, instead he might throw a few not so kind words in its place. He’s the starting setter for the national team, and the eye candy of everyone’s magazine, billboards, and draws you in until you begin to stop to hold your breath, only to realize Miya Atsumu is not worth losing your breath over. That’s what Oikawa discovers.But to others—Iwaizumi Hajime (27) Athletic Trainer, there’s stolen glances, lingering hands, and Oikawa notices them all.A memoir by Oikawa Tooru (27) Argentina National Team.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Miya Atsumu
Comments: 46
Kudos: 178





	vertigo

**Author's Note:**

> hello everyone, you may be wondering what this is. To be honest, it’s the fueling from weeks of atsuiwa infatuation. This is not unrequited iwaoi also... it simply a character study— of the sorts. 
> 
> Enjoy!!

Oikawa Tooru has come across a speculation that crossed his attention. It starts perhaps when he shatters his knee repeatedly until it becomes a rhythm, a rhythm that succumbs around the bone, and drills circles into the muscle. Perhaps it was the last game, or maybe the first game—if it was the last game, then when? Oikawa tends to dive head first, and when he does, he becomes seafoam and simply floats away. 

How, you may now wonder, does Oikawa come across this speculation, there too many, throwing punches at his brain. He does remember that it begins with Hajime, it tends to start there. Or maybe end there, if you pay too close to the small ideas, then you will miss the big picture. Distance has its ways of curling his hands above Oikawa’s shoulders and planting him into the root of the moment. It’s unfortunate, at first, when Oikawa originally leered away from distance and attempted to dispel it. But now, he perhaps welcomes it, or stops sending it away. 

“Iwa-chan.” 

It always starts like this, the moments where distance has no boundaries and Oikawa knocks on the glass to enter through. Hajime sits on the bench table. There’s a bottle of Pocari Sweat, melting away in his hands. Normally, he would add a belittlement of a reminder for him to start drinking before it grows hot in the humid summer. 

Hajime, leans back, arms stretching across the back of the bench, a loosened expression, no furrowed eyebrows of concern, or the green milkyway strays across from the sky, and creates a ring of gold in his eyes. “Yeah?” 

“You never told me where you wanted to go, after high school.” 

Oikawa notices the way his mouth twists, unlike in an unfriendly manner it remains neutral. “I never did?” and a slight smile circles around, and perhaps Oikawa feels at peace. “There’s a reason why.” 

He rolls his eyes, and clings to the Pocari Sweat, as it dribbles down his palm. “Come on Iwa-chan, no keeping secrets.” 

“Don’t laugh.” 

“Why would I laugh at you Iwa-chan?” and Hajime’s eyes circuit, a dashboard of flecks of gold in a sea of forest green. 

“I got a scholarship for Irvine. Only a few people know, I didn’t want to make it a big deal.” 

Oikawa stands. The words pouring from Hajime’s mouth are absolutely ridiculous, why wouldn’t he want to flaunt this victory, but then Oikawa remembers. _It would mean he would move to the United States._ And of course he wouldn’t want to make it a big deal, but deep down, it’s an opportunity for Hajime. “Excuse me?” 

“Stop being so loud Shittykawa, It’s just a school. Not to mention, you failed to tell me that you were leaving for Argentina tomorrow?” 

Ah. He won this time. Oikawa forgets to reply. He was drowning in the time they spent. Or they were drowning in the last hours, before Oikawa had to wake up early and board for the flight. 

It’s nicer, when Pocari sweats through your fingers and you lose track of time, and perhaps stop to admire the way moonlight cuts down on Hajime’s jaw like a diamond sword. 

*

When Oikawa first meets Miya Atsumu, infuriating is the best way to describe him. He’s everywhere, on the front page of the weekly volleyball magazine that he subscribed to on his phone. He radiates in this sparkling glitter of annoyance. It’s sort of enigmatic, but simultaneously he wants to claw his eyes out. 

He’s attractive. Sort of. Oikawa won’t tell you that though, instead he might throw a few not so kind words in its place. He’s the starting setter for the national team, and the eye candy of everyone’s magazine, billboards, and draws you in until you begin to stop to hold your breath, only to realize Miya Atsumu is not worth losing your breath over. That’s what Oikawa discovers. 

But to others—Iwaizumi Hajime (27) Athletic Trainer, there’s stolen glances, lingering hands, and Oikawa notices them all. 

They theoretically have met before, maybe clashing in their high school years, two setters, adorning two different versatility and skills but born under one court. If things were different, then Oikawa would say that they were similar. Here’s the problem, Oikawa would never recognize Miya Atsumu to be the same as him. He strongly advised against the possibility if it made fortitude inside his head. 

He first spots Hajime before the game, he is unable to approach him but catches him afar as the rest of his teammates set their bags down. Oikawa makes the first steps to greet him, but stops. There’s someone else, beating him there. It’s the bleached blond curls that disgust him first. Then the seeds from a honey dew, pitted in his eyes that strung an arrow across the court. Miya Atsumu is a repulsive sight when Oikawa lays his eyes on him, and he carries himself with the burden of knowing all this proudly. 

It’s after the game, once they’ve shaken hands and offered awkward but sentimental hugs and final greetings that Oikawa approaches Hajime. He’s clasping the box to the first aid kit close, hands spreading like butterflies, a godzilla green band aid wrapped around his index finger. He wants to ask what happened, but it would be weird if ‘what happened to your finger Iwa-chan?’ was the first sentence that came out of his mouth. 

So instead, he goes with “Heya Iwa-chan.” He chooses his words wisely, but not so wisely. 

Hajime turns around, same flecks of the mountain, in the forest spring of earthy mounds and the highest point of Mount Fuji stares back. There’s gentle nostalgia hiding in the back of his eyes, and just maybe, just maybe Oikawa could reach the top if he tried his very best. “Shittykawa.” the fracture of a heartwarming smile (?) peaks at his bottom lip. “It’s been a while.” 

Oikawa gives a blissful laugh, it’s so easy to be able to laugh and catch up with an old friend, almost as easy as a lover. He internally flinches, best not to accidentally tumble in abandoned territory. “Don’t be so dramatic Iwa-chan, it’s only been over a year.” 

“What’s goin’ on here?” A new voice drips of kryptonite. And poison, mixed together. Atsumu creeps behind Hajime, throwing an elbow comfortably on his shoulder, like it was meant to be there. 

Hajime gives a little shrug, but Atsumu makes no movement to slip away. And there’s a slight sneer present, hanging over the edge of his lips. “Miya, you should be with the rest of the team, cooling off.” The vice-captain aura rises, years of high school may have once claimed to be in the past but every now and then Oikawa knows that it never left. 

“But Iwa-san, I think I twisted my wrist, I was wonderin’ if you give it a look.” 

Iwa-san. Iwa-san. It should be Iwaizumi-san. It felt too similar. To many similar things between them. Oikawa blinks, hopeful that shock isn’t too evident in his expression. “Iwa-san? I didn’t think all your players gave you cute nicknames.” He cocks his head, almost amused. 

Atsumu doesn’t double-back, or seem at all startled, almost as if he’s been asked the question regularly. “This must be yer Oikawa, it’s finally nice to put a name to the face I’ve been hearin’ so much about.” 

Hajime is the first to correct him, but Atsumu leans closer and whispers something in his ear, probably about his wrist. And it carves hunger, and the smallest of jealousy in his stomach and a volcano erupts once in a hundred years. They seemed close, almost too close. 

*

The first time Oikawa first meets Miya Atsumu the first adjective to describe him is infuriating— no, scratch that—horrendous. The second time applies, when he’s shopping at the closest convenience store near the hotel his team was staying at. They had been planning to stay for a few more days. By now, the sun was down, and dusk had exiled any last opportunity for the sun to give its last goodbyes. 

Oikawa decided that it was best if he got some air, the fresh air of Tokyo, that distilled in the air differently than Argentina. And when the subtle winds of homesickness trickle in, what then? What if? 

The signature bell of the sliding door when he enters, and he grabs the basket at the front of the store. Oikawa could sit in the aisles, and relish the air conditioning, his windbreaker clinging to his arms. But he glides across the first few, and snatches whatever piqued his interest— milk bread. 

He notices a figure next to him, and at first disregards it. Until he recognizes the tousled blonde strands arrayed masterfully, Oikawa would know best: he used the same gel brand. “Okijirou was it?” Atsumu asks. 

Oikawa lifts his head from the selection of milk bread. “Oikawa.” He corrects. 

A playful tug of a smile arrives in the middle of the night, and the whistles of the dark from outside the convenience store could be heard. The store was also terribly lit, straining his eyes and fixing his glasses. He should’ve worn contacts instead. “My bad.” Though Atsumu doesn’t seem too apologetic. 

“What are you doing here Miya-kun.” 

“Doin’ a little shopping of my own.” 

“Oh.”

Yeah. Yeah. Atsumu distantly says. There’s a small smug but Oikawa ignores it and chooses a random pack of milk bread. Atsumu shifts in his black and red sweatshirt, the colors of a ladybug, laying on a damp leaf, and poison crawls on fours around Atsumu. “You like milk bread?” The worst thing, or most ludicrous part of all this is that Miya Atsumu is well aware of this fact. It’s in the fun facts of every introductory volleyball magazine. 

Oikawa is kind, and says, “I suppose so.” 

“Do you know what Iwa-san’s favorite food is?” Atsumu gives a dashing grin. “I’ve been askin’ him for the past week and he won’t tell me.” 

Judgement waits in the palm of your hand. Does it taste bittersweet now? Or is it sugary like milk bread, clouds on the farthest part of your tongue. Do you answer the call Oikawa, it may change the rest of your life. 

“Agedashi Tofu, if I remember correctly.” Liar, it’s not on the basis of whether you remember correctly, but of how much did Hajime change? How much did he grow up? 

Miya Atsumu’s smile is large, expanding over ten thousand oceans and a hundred years of guilt piles over Oikawa’s chest. 

*

“Iwa-chan, are you in love with someone.” 

A snort of indignance. “Why the hell would you ask that.” 

“It’s a question, why, are you in love?” Oikawa teases. 

It goes like this. Twenty seven years old and they often bicker like they’re in high school. Oh to travel to the old days and live in the old times, never returning to the future. “Never, I’m too busy.” 

Oikawa stops. “Too busy taking care of Atsumu huh?” The tease snags on thorns, blood drips down his finger. 

He can hear the roll of his eyes lifting past the fifth outer shell of the atmosphere. Perhaps he was reaching, just a little. 

What’s funny is that Hajime doesn’t deny it, Oikawa notices. It doesn’t hurt. Which is the biggest surprise. 

*

You are Oikawa Tooru (27) starting setter of the Argentina National Team. 

He is Miya Atsumu— which you are not. And then there is Iwaizumi Hajime, a boy in the past, present and future. And burns stronger when it hurts, which it doesn’t by the way. This is only a story for you to tell it doesn’t mean it’s your own. 

*

Wrong. 

No. You are right. 

*

Oikawa is invited to watch the game, at first he’s reluctant when Hajime calls him, but less so against the idea after Shouyou shoots him a text an hour before their warm-ups begin. His teammates are infatuated with the free cable and so he leaves alone, to Kamei Arena. 

He buys a ticket, which is fairly easy and seats himself in the middle row, but closer to the back of the bleachers. He spots the home team almost immediately. And then finds Hajime in the crowd amongst them. It's odd how fast he has the ability to work a crowd, not like Oikawa or even maybe Atsumu, but gentler, and soothing. 

(The game starts but Oikawa is stuck in the sea of black and red, proud colors worn by a team of monsters, being led by the most monstrous of them all. Oikawa is disgusted). 

The game goes on. Miya Atsumu is a force of nature, a monsoon hurtling through the streets of Tokyo. It’s obvious to catch the glimpse of a proud smile Hajime wears even from the audience. What does he see in Atsumu, to be able to freely look at someone with such utter infatuation. Or maybe he’s just like the rest of the crowd, in awe of his power and demand. 

It’s not jealousy. Oikawa reaches the conclusion of the emotion, it's a wonder. Has he always been in tune with the people around him? 

He doesn’t recall the name of the opposing team, but he knows that they win. By a solid amount, the victory slips loosely under their belts. Oikawa remains in the bleachers until the cheers wane from his ears. 

It’s not hard to find Hajime, he sits across from him Atsumu, which Oikawa stumbles upon when he searches for Hajime. He doesn’t interrupt, but listens outside the cracked open door. Atsumu kneels on the bed, oh. This must be the trainer's room. 

“I told you not to work so hard.” Hajime’s voice comes out a bit seething, a little bark. Atsumu laughs it over. 

“Come on now, you havta’ admit, it was a good game tonight.” 

Hajime begins to wrap Atsumu’s hand, and he comes closer. That’s too close. Oikawa hears the sharp intake of air, quickly cutting off. Ah, and there’s that look, as he wraps Atsumu’s wrist. He’s seen it before. Oikawa feels as if he’s interrupting an intimate moment. A moment between two people, two souls trapped in a box, to their taste. 

Do they kiss? You may never find out, for you leave before you can find out. 

*

You are Oikawa Tooru (27) Argentina National team, the details are not important. What’s important is where you saw yourself, not in the past, present or even future. But now. Wait. It’s all the same. The way time becomes a delirious concept if every momentous memory is the same. 

Where did you go wrong? The better question is at what moment did you lose? Was it when you were fourteen and wanted to gather your steed and trash through the stone hedges of a mechanical eagle who swooped above the sky and preyed on your win. Or what is when Tobio Kageyama challenged you for the crown. 

Or was it Iwaizumi Hajime, the details offer no prevalence right now, who met Miya Atsumu, all despicable smiles and alluring teeth. 

If you ask him in a thousand years he may be able to answer you. Oikawa Tooru finally finds the answer he’s been looking for. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hello you have reached the end... who knows will read this AHAHAH... this is a rare concept and I rlly enjoyed this, it was my first time writing Oikawa in over a year. I love him. This is not too painful I hope. 
> 
> follow me on [twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/atsuhinass__) if you would like, for more updates and let's chat abt atsuiwa :)
> 
> Lastly, if you enjoyed this fic ahh, kudos, comments are appreciated, I would love to know that you liked this spontaneously turned thought to fic, they rlly motivate me to keep writing!


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